CHAPTER XII
MRS. ESSINGTON SAYS “YES”
DARK had shut down in a weeping mist when the carts from the country club drove up the “Miramar” terrace. The doctor’s dry, professional presence met Mrs. Budd’s voluble anxiety on the threshold, and, in a measure, smoothed it.
Oh, it was all right—all right, he assured her; only, the place must be kept quiet. (He had a grudging eye for the people getting out of the carts.) The patient ought to be moved to the cottage hospital, but—He pursed out his lips....
But Mrs. Budd wouldn’t hear of such a thing! Since the poor young man was her guest, had been hurt—she saw it dramatically—in saving her daughter—
The doctor’s hands waved it away.
“My dear madam, that’s not the point. I want this case under my eye.”
“Oh! Is it as bad as that?”
His look was everywhere but at her.
“Not at all—the usual thing. These youngsters all do it, but—send these people away!”
It was hushed enough that night, the house, but full of whispers, conjectures, things told and asked.